


burn it down

by arbitraryink



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, First Time, Friends With Benefits, Loss of Virginity, what am I even doing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-19
Updated: 2014-02-19
Packaged: 2018-01-13 02:50:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1209958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arbitraryink/pseuds/arbitraryink
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He doesn’t have Enjolras’s way with words; they don’t come as easily to him as numbers and anatomy, but when Éponine finally meets his gaze he smiles a little and the set of her shoulders relaxes just a little. They stand there in silence for a beat before Combeferre adds, voice low, “I’m lonely too.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	burn it down

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time trying to write any sort of porny content and so I'm vaguely horrified that this is my first (only?) contribution to the fandom! In theory there is more than one part, but as I have never finished a multi-part fic in my life I wouldn't hold out a lot of hope...

The silence is only a little awkward as Combeferre closes the door of his apartment behind them, broken only by the dull thud of her bag hitting the floor. He stuffs his hands into his pockets and takes a slow breath before turning around with a friendly smile. “Do you want anything?” he asks. “I’ve got tea, or I can make some coffee if you want?”

“No,” says Éponine, and suddenly she’s crowding into his space. She’s still wearing her boots so there isn’t much distance to cover when she leans up and kisses him.

Combeferre freezes the moment her mouth touches his. His hands are still in his pockets. He doesn’t know if he should take them out, if he should touch her; he wonders if she can sense it, whether she can feel his inexperience against her mouth like a brand –

Before he’s had time to wrestle the unfamiliar feelings of insecurity into place, Éponine breaks away, cursing under her breath and not meeting his eyes. “God, I’m sorry, look, we can just forget about this. I don’t know what I was thinking,” she says as she takes two short steps back, lifting her hand to her face and brushing the very tips of her fingers across her lips. “I don’t have to stay if you don’t want, God, that was so stupid of me – ”

“No,” Combeferre cuts her off, finally freeing his hands from his pockets and grasping her gently around the wrist. “ _I’m_ sorry. I just wasn’t expecting…” With his free hand, Combeferre gestures vaguely in Éponine’s direction. He doesn’t have Enjolras’s way with words; they don’t come as easily to him as numbers and anatomy, but when Éponine finally meets his gaze he smiles a little and the set of her shoulders relaxes just a little. They stand there in silence for a beat before Combeferre adds, voice low, “I’m lonely too.”

He guesses that’s all the permission Éponine needs as she pulls her wrist out of his grip, sinking one hand into his hair and the other against his shoulder, shoving him back against the wall. This time the kiss isn’t gentle; it’s hot and fast and she drags her tongue across his lower lip, pressing it into his mouth when he gasps and closes his eyes.

Combeferre allows himself the briefest second to panic – what is he _doing_? Two minutes ago he’d never even kissed a person before and now Éponine’s got both hands around the hem of his sweater, dragging it up his chest and over his head when she breaks away to whisper “ _Stop thinking._ ” Maybe she’s right, he thinks, but then Éponine has the top of his shirt unbuttoned and has dragged down the collar so she can suck hard against the place where his neck meets his shoulder, and he’s never understood the phrase ‘brain plummeting into his cock’ until now. 

They make out like that, hot and heavy in the hallway, and Combeferre doesn’t even notice that she’s unbuttoned his shirt all the way down until she’s raking her nails lightly down his chest to start working on his belt. “Wait –” he says, breaking off her mouth with a gasp, and Éponine stares up at him with eyes so dark they’re almost black. She’s beautiful and _Christ_ he’ll hate himself tomorrow but the little brushes of her fingers at his waistband are making his stomach muscles jump, he’s harder than he’s ever been in his _life_ and he can’t do it, can’t tell her to stop. “We should move out of the hallway,” he says instead, fast, and he can’t help the way his eyes catch on her lips (wet, swollen) and then trace down her neck, her chest, locking on the shadowed hint of cleavage right below the zipper of her jacket. They shoot back up to meet hers when she makes a low sound, half laugh, half purr, and takes her hands off his belt. Combeferre almost makes a sound of protest but he stifles it before it can escape and embarrass him. 

“I’ll just take these off, shall I?”

Before Éponine can bend over to deal with her boots, Combeferre kneels, wrapping one hand around her knee and using the other to tug the zipper gently down her calf. She steps first out of one boot and then the other, bare toes painted bright red and scrunching slightly into the carpet, and Combeferre can’t look away until he sees her jacket hit the floor in his peripheral vision.  “Efficiency,” he hears as she draws him back to his feet, and then Éponine is rising onto her toes and they’re pressed together so tightly he can feel the softness of her breasts and the lacy cups of her bra against his chest and Combeferre is so far gone; he can’t help it, he rocks his hips forward and it feels so good that he does it again, again –

“Eager boy,” Éponine says with a smirk but it isn’t cruel. “Your bedroom’s this way, right? Take this off.” Obediently Combeferre twists out of the sleeves of his shirt, dropping it to the floor as she crowds him against the doorway to his bedroom, slapping around until she finds the light switch and starts nudging him toward his bed. He goes willingly but the sudden bright light seems to bring some clarity back to him as well. _This is it,_ he thinks, _you have to tell her, just say it, I’m a virgin,_ but Éponine’s already got his flies open and when she snakes her hand inside his briefs, closes her hand around his dick, he gasps into her mouth and forgets everything he meant to say in the sudden, desperate urge to rut into her palm.

_“Fuck,”_ he manages at last, “fuck, Éponine, don’t, I’m going to – I’m so close, you can’t – ”

Somehow she understands; he doesn’t tell her that this is the first time there’s ever been a hand on his dick that wasn’t his own but Éponine still slides hers out of his pants, instead brings her palms around to squeeze his ass, drags his pants and his briefs just far enough down his thighs, pushes him down onto the bed. “I like to be on top,” she tells him and for a second Combeferre worries because her voice is so even while he can barely catch his breath. That second is short-lived as she hikes up her skirt and straddles his lap, knees pressing into the mattress on either side of his lap. “You can touch me, you know.”

_“Where?”_ Combeferre asks.

The sound of foil tearing catches his attention – there’s a condom in her hand, he doesn’t know where it came from, she’s like a condom _magician_ – but then his attention is diverted again because she’s rolling it onto his cock, squeezing him a little with her other hand, thumb rubbing little circles at the very base of his dick.

“Anywhere,” Éponine breathes back, and then she’s sinking onto him and bending forward, back arching so she can drag her tongue against his mouth as it falls open and bite down his lower lip. “Lay back,” she instructs, still in that breathy voice, and Combeferre does, hooking his arms under hers to bring her down with him. His fingers trip over her back, catch on the clasp of her bra (“leave it!”), glide down her sides until she’s shivering and moaning and moving on his cock. He feels that desperate urge to rut again, presses his feet against the floor and drives into her as she comes back down. It’s tight and it’s wet and it’s hot; the world retreats to white noise in his ears but for the slap of his thighs against her ass as she screws down and he slams up to meet her and the high pitched little grunts she makes while she sucks and bites more blood bruises into his neck. 

It isn’t long before Éponine is snaking a hand between their bodies and her rhythm goes off as she tries to fuck down onto him and ride her hand at the same time. It’s a little awkward with her sharp knuckles digging into the flesh of his stomach, but she’s making little _ah-ah-ah_ noises against his throat and she’s clenching even _tighter_ around his cock in little bursts of pressure and he gets a little frenzied himself, jerking his hips up and up and up. 

Distantly he feels Éponine moving, hears her little hiccupping breaths every time he drives into her, and then suddenly her mouth is hot and wet around his nipple. She sucks once, hard, and he’s coming so hard he has to squeeze his eyes shut and still sees light bursting behind his eyelids.

It feels like seconds later that Éponine is maneuvering herself off his lap. Combeferre forces his eyes open and props himself up on his elbows, grimacing as he catches sight of the used condom, a murky white just above the denim of his jeans – and Christ, he’s still wearing his jeans. Éponine takes a tissue from the box on his dresser and wipes at her crotch quickly before tugging her skirt back down – she didn’t take off any panties, she wasn’t _wearing_ panties, his brain supplies for him – balling up the tissue and sticking it into her bra. She disappears into the hallway before Combeferre’s managed to struggle to his feet, but she pokes her head back into the bedroom while he’s trying to wipe down the mess that had dribbled upward under the condom and pull his pants up at the same time.

“Can I borrow this?” 

She’s putting on his wrinkled button-down and he stumbles over “I – yes,” trying to fix the image into his memory before she turns around again, dragging her hands through her hair and heading back into the hall. She is just doing up her boots when Combeferre finally makes it out of his room, tucked in and fly zipped but button still undone. “Can I give you a lift somewhere?” he offers helplessly, unsure what to do with his hands now that the heat is all gone. He shoves them back into his pockets, remembering belatedly that Enjolras has the car tonight.

“Nah,” Éponine says, not pausing as she shrugs into her jacket. “I’m supposed to meet Cosette at that place on the corner, what’s it called, Lucky, in like ten minutes after she drops Marius off. Enjolras is probably over at our place anyway, there is no way I love R enough to go home during _that.”_ Combeferre doesn’t miss the way she scowls a little at Marius’s name, but that’s her only concession to whatever feelings she still has for him. His stomach twists a little; he almost says _you could stay here_ but instead he just says, “Okay” and leaves it at that.

Right before she leaves, Éponine turns back to look at him, a little smile playing around her lips. “That was fun. We should do it again sometime.”

“Yeah,” Combeferre answers faintly, but she’s already closing the door behind her. He doesn’t move forward to turn the lock for a long time.


End file.
